28 of the way on foot and have our lunch on the summit of McFarland's Peak, above the mammoth slope of ice. But that was eleven and it was only six! Is he awake, I thought. Is he trying to im- agine what I'm doing? With his eyes following me, I got up and put on my pink quilted peignoir and went to the window to see what sort of day we would have for our excurSIon. It was going to be perfect; it was what my fa- ther called "a mountain day." The air was so clear and rarefied It seemed to be an element superior to anything terres- trial-an unnamable essence that had somehow made its way to our valley and our range from another hemi- sphere. The violent violet peaks stood out against a sky of cruel, Infuriated blue, and the snows at timberline shone like sun-struck mirrors There was no wind; the field of harebells was motIon- less; the dark-blue lake was calm, and the red canoe, bottom up in the reeds, gleamed In the pure light like a bright, immaculate wound. I dressed at last, changing a dozen times, trYIng first slacks, then LevIS, then khaki frontier pants, then jodhpurs, next a red shirt, a blue pullover, a bla k turtleneck, a striped apache Jersey; I did my hair in a ponytail, in a pompa- dour, in pigtails, and finally I brushed it out straight and let it hang loose to my shoulders. As soon as I decently could, I went across to Grandmother's and had break- fast with her and told her about Rod. She was pleased; she said that Rod was an AdonIS and that she saw no point in marrying if one couldn't marry a hand- some man. She opened up that vast, obsolete bag of hers and gave me a gold pin in the shape of two clasped hands. My grandmother's house was, in these wildwoods of Colorado, a re- markable Incongruity, for while she loved the \Vest-she and m) grand- father, who died when I was six, had started coming out here when my father, their son, was a baby, suffering from asthma-she despised roughing it. She could not bear crudity or imperfec- tion, and she constantly implored Mother and Daddy to get rid of our cowhide rugs and our flawed, bubbly Mexican glassware and our redwood furnIture. Her own house, though its exterior was the same as ours-rambling and made of logs-was furnished much as her apartment In New York was; the Oriental rugs were second-best and some of the tapestry chair-seat covers were machine-made, but the total ef- fect, nonetheless, was that of an oaSIS of civilization in a barbaric waste Each year she brought her maids with her, T AO IN THE YANKEE ST ADIUM BLEACHER.S (WHAT COMES OF READING CHUANG-TZU BETWEEN INNINGS) Distance brings proportion. From here, an inexpen,;ive seat, the populated tIers seem a segment of the show: a constructed stage beast, an allegorica] rose, or a Chinese military hat cunnIngly chased with bodies. F allzng from his chariot, a drunk man is unhurt becausp his soul is intact. N of knowing his fall he ÍJ unastonzshed, he is invulnerable. He is the pure man. Pure, too, is the undisturbed spectator. I t is not necessary to seek out a -wasteland, swamp, or thicket. The old men who saw Hans Wagner scoop up balls in lobster hands, the opposing pitcher's pertinent hesitations, the sky, this meadow, Mantle's baked red neck the green slats, wet stone: appearances come to me as when an emperor commands a performance with a gesture of his eyes. "V 0 king on his throne has the joy of the dead, the skull told Chuang-tzu. The thought of death is peppermInt to you when games begin with patriotic song and a democratic sun beats broadly down. The Inner Journey seems un judgeably long when small boys purchase cups of ice and, distant as a paradise, experts, paSSIonate and deft, wait while Berra flies to left. . and for the past two or three summers they had been two red-haired Irish girls, Mary and Eileen, who looked down their pretty noses at Mother's serv- ants-local mountain girls who wore ankle socks and cardigans when they ,;erved dinner. Grandmother was not a snob. It was simpl} that her nature demanded con- tinuity. Her maids today were going to lVlass In Peaceful Glen, twenty mIles away, and were to be driven there by Bandy, our horse wrangler and general handyman. Mass was celebrated at the Glen only once a month, by an itinerant priest, who toured continually through the mountains and the plains to the sparse and widely separated settlements of Catholics. Like all such Sundays, It was a red-letter day for Mary and Eileen, and I could hear them in the kitchen, chattering as excitedly as girls going to a dance Grandmother, a be- nign and understandIng mistress, always -JOHN UPDIKE . gave them the day off after breakfast until it was tIme for them to prepare her tea, and she came to our house for lunch. After church, if the weather was gUÐd, the girls had a picnic besIde the lake-an endearing, old-fashioned picnic, with a tablecloth and a wicker hamper. They were planning one for today Mary saId when she came in to clear away the breakfast thIngs. Grandmother told her that I was go- ing to marry Rod. "That Viking lad," said Grandmother, and Mary, trans- figured with happiness for anyone else's happiness, said, with her habitual lavish sentimentalIty, "It's as if it was my own wedding day. Oh, Miss Judy! May every saint and angel hless you! " The rest of the morning somehow passed. Daddy had completely forgotten his wrath of the evening before and was talking baseball with Fritzie on the veranda while Mother and Camilla and I sat in Mother's bedroom and talked about engagements and mar- riage, and about Rod. Mother said, "\Vhat good gIrls I have, to pIck out such extremely agreeable young men! " _F'inally, the last drop of the coffee In the pot on :\lather's breakfast tray was